The 13th Tablet

As soon as Mina sat down in her office, she unwrapped the tablet and started reading. There was something strange about it. Although she agreed with Hassan’s interpretation about the original rectangular shape of the tablet, this type of contract did not usually require many more lines than what was already here, so the original was probably not much longer than its current square shape. More importantly, the weight of this tablet felt wrong. She picked up the phone and called the small office of the janitor. Nurdin Muhammad used to be an art restorer at the Mosul museum, but in 2003, like many others, realised that the salary he had been waiting months for was not going to materialise. He had been forced to find different work, any work really. Now he was a janitor at the university.

‘Hi Nurdin. Mina Osman here. I need to borrow a small pair of scales. Great. Half an hour? Thanks.’

There were enough student essays piled on Mina’s desk to keep her up all night marking them. She picked up the first essay and started running through it. When she first started teaching at the department she had been aware of the students’ poor English grammar, strange syntax and flowery vocabulary. But she had enjoyed their eagerness from the first instant and how uncontrived their writing was in comparison to some of her New York students. None of these boys followed a set path in the presentation of their essays or in their analyses. They enjoyed being given free rein to write in English about their own past, and they took full advantage of it.

A knock on the door brought her out of her marking reverie. It was Nurdin.

‘Miss Osman?’

‘Hi Nurdin. I see you have the scales. Thanks.’

‘Can I have a look?’

‘Please.’ She knew all about Nurdin’s former life and felt awful about his situation. His hands were strong and agile, and the assured way with which he picked up the tablet testified to the many priceless objects he had handled on a daily basis. He set up the scales on her desk, and weighed the tablet.

‘You’re right. The weight is completely wrong. I don’t understand. It’s much heavier than clay.’

‘But it is clay?’ she asked.

He passed his fingers on the surface.

‘Yes it is. But the weight is more like that of a small stone slab. There must be an obvious explanation, but it eludes me,’ he sighed, ‘I have to get back to my daily chores, unfortunately.’

‘Thanks for your help Nurdin.’

‘Good luck,’ he said as he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Mina leaned back in her chair, puzzled. There was another knock on the door. She quickly wrapped the tablet in its rag and put it away in her desk.

‘Come in,’ she said.

‘Good morning Mina,’ said Professor Almeini. ‘How are those essays?’ he glanced at the pile of paper on Mina’s desk.

‘They’re quite good actually.’

‘May I introduce you to my American friend Jack Hillcliff?’

Jack appeared behind the professor and stepped into the office. Mina stood up and shook his hand.

‘Mina Osman.’

‘Jack Hillcliff.’

She observed the handsome man in front of her. He seemed unpretentious and had a thoughtful air about him.

‘Jack is in charge of an irrigation project in a small village outside Mosul,’ explained Professor Almeini.

‘You’re American? It must be dangerous for you working on the outskirts of Mosul these days.’

‘No more than working in downtown Mosul I guess,’ he answered, smiling at her.

‘Point taken,’ she smiled back at him.

‘People need water, especially in wartime,’ he explained as if carrying out this kind of project while the war raged on was perfectly normal.

‘Jack and I are working together on an aspect of his project and I thought you might be able to give him a hand,’ Professor Almeini said.

‘Sounds interesting. I didn’t read anything about a departmental irrigation project?’

Jack answered immediately, ‘Oh, it’s nothing like that. I’ve got funding from a number of NGOs to bring water to this village and make it as self-sufficient as possible. I’m an irrigation specialist of sorts. And, until I ran into the Prof here, I was a little stuck.’

‘How’s that?’ she asked.

The professor smiled at them, ‘Mina, Jack, I need to get back to my office. I’m so glad you’ve met.’ Looking at Mina, he added ‘Don’t forget we have a publication committee meeting this afternoon.’

‘Of course not, Professor. See you there.’

Mina turned to Jack, ‘So, Jack, have a seat and tell me all about how you met Professor Almeini.’

She was doing her best to be pleasant, but she was aware that her body language was a little awkward, always a sign that she was attracted to a man.

‘I met the Prof through a mutual friend, a hydrologist in Baghdad. To be honest, I was a little nervous when I first met him but we started chatting, and before I knew it, we were talking shop.’

She smiled, ‘He does tend to have that effect on people.’